


They're Back

by ValDeCastille



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany is a bit dark too, Darker Jon, F/M, House Targaryen, I find it a bit hot?, I just love a Targ Jon, Incest, It doesn't end well for Varys, Jon and Dany are probs super OOC but fuck it, Jon and Dany both go a little mad, Jon embraces his inner Targ, Let's fix everything D&D did, Nor Tyrion, Not that I like what Dumb&Dumber did to our babies, angst? I guess, but not super dark, fuck em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValDeCastille/pseuds/ValDeCastille
Summary: Jon realises he is the blood of the dragon as is his Queen, and he quite likes it.





	They're Back

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely beings!!!
> 
> So we all HATE season 8 and with reason. I can't stand where it has led Jon and Dany and all the other characters so let's all keep writing, shall we? Don't stop, please!!!! <3
> 
> Anyway, this is my take on mad Dany. I figured, hells, it can be turned into sth. If all Targaryens are bound to go mad then Jon is too! 
> 
> I took scenes from episodes four and five combined but the timeline is a bit different. Also, it is a JON POV one-shot however there are two brief moments in which we get to see a bit of Tyrion's. I was lazy enough not to change it lol. Excuse my poor soul which has been constantly crushed episode after episode.
> 
> Well, I hope you like it! 
> 
> P.S. Beta credits go to my best mate, Dino! Thank you again for bearing with me and making time to beta even with so short notice. You THEEEE BEEESSSTTT. <3<3

The wind blew strongly against the tide, bringing about a gust of salt from the waves that tumbled against ancient stones, crashing with loud roars. The breeze was refreshing against his face.

Dragonstone stood regal as it had for three centuries and Jon thought-- since knowing about his true identity -- it appeared grander, welcoming even, its tall walls and high towers almost beckoning him inside.

Long gone was the eerie aura and mistrust he’d harboured when first he’d set foot on its beaches months ago. The castle had looked wicked, haunted to him back then, a man unaware of what he’d find inside; resentment, perhaps, contempt, most likely.

Instead, he’d found understanding and love.

 _This_ was his home, too. The home of his ancestors --and hers. It was an odd notion, he reckoned, but not an unpleasant one.

His musings were brought to a halt by the almost sudden presence of Lord Varys, the bald man looming a few feet away, eyeing him. There existed a hint of concern in the man’s stare, and Jon could only suppose he worried for their Queen, as did everyone else. He couldn't bring his mind around the fact that she had lost another one of her children and that her best friend, her confidant, the innocent Missandei, had perished at the hands of Cersei. What else would the world take from her? Dany, his selfless Dany. _His Queen_.

It was a pure dose of raw ire he seemed to have swallowed as it possessed him in such a way it never had before when he thought of the pain inflicted upon her time after time; it was a thick fog of ash that clouded his mind and made his fingers jitter, his hands quake, wanting to release their tension in whatever they could get a hold of.

“The Northern armies?” There was no greeting as the man received him with query and Jon fought to ease the bubbling, hissing fire that lit his thoughts, those which had crossed his mind for a brief moment. It was enough restraint to summon as the eunuch’s face morphed into a sternness that replaced calculative worry.

Jon had never much liked the eunuch, seeing as to how he changed sides as he did clothes.

At face value, the eunuch’s motives appeared sound and fair; the realm before a monarch, the people before the cruel high-born. However, Jon wasn’t convinced it was as simple as the man presented it to be. The commoners’ lives had not improved after Aerys had been removed. If anything, they had worsened when Robert had taken power from him and even more so when Joffrey and Tommen had followed, thus the eunuch’s sole reason for changing bands held no truth to it.

It seemed that he didn’t at all care for the people, but to be in charge; to grab power for himself by whispering into the ears of kings. And from Jon’s perspective, that seemed to be something not at all honourable, so the man had no right to continue holding a title, such as that of Master of Whispers. Another part of him, one that he tried not to listen to most of the times, told him the bald man needed to be dealt with in a more  _practical_ way.

It was s surprise to Jon that Dany had accepted his services. “They just crossed the Trident,” he answered. “They’ll be at the walls of King’s Landing in two days.” Lord Varys appeared satisfied with the information, however, Jon detected he wasn’t giving away his true thoughts just yet.

“How is she?” Jon questioned, caring not for what the eunuch had to say. He needed to know how Dany was taking the latest casualties, how she was coping.

“She hasn’t seen anyone since we returned,” Varys replied, unfazed, which Jon took as a bad sign of whatever it was he held back. “…Hasn’t left her chambers, hasn’t accepted any food.”

The words broke his heart, made his stomach churn and his mouth go dry. He couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering. She, who didn’t deserve to suffer; not now, not ever.

The world ought to quit snatching things away from her.

“She shouldn’t be alone,” he told the man. It irked him that he and the rest were letting her rot all by herself, and he hated the fact he'd been unable to be there for her when she had needed him most.

“You’re worried for her,” Varys replied. Was there even a tight slot in his mind to believe he wouldn't be? It was their Queen they were talking about. With each moment that transpired between them, Jon resented Varys a little more. “I admire your empathy,” he continued.

“Don’t you worry for her?” Jon confronted him. He had no place here if he didn’t. Something told him Varys was about to show his true colours -- _once again_ \-- and he wasn’t about to allow for him to harm Dany.

“I’m worried for all of us. They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath.”

An unavailing saying, in Jon’s opinion. He almost had wanted to roll his eyes. Having devoured pages and pages on Targaryen history, he was aware most dragons had been _great_ , not _mad_. And madness could be found in kings and queens all over the world who had no trace of Targaryen blood within them, so the saying held no logic to it.

Briefly, he wondered if the words bothered him more now that he knew who his father truly was, who _he_ was. “We’re not much for riddles where I'm from,” he offered as a reply, holding back his true thoughts.

“We both know what she’s about to do.”

 _Fire and blood_ , Jon reasoned, Varys didn’t have to voice it. A part of him insisted that was not an honourable deed, that it was wrong, unfair to so many people. The other, however, felt she was in every right to burn everything to the ground, to let her fury out or else it would consume her, bring her down.

 _If I look back, I’m lost_ , she had told him once.

His resolve did not crumble, he’d stand by whatever she chose. Honour had killed so many Starks, so what good came of it? Selfishly, he started caring less about honour and more about her; about how he'd be unable to live in a world where she was gone. The war had to be won, and she had to win it. “That’s her decision to make, she’s our queen.”

“Men decide where power resides, whether or not they know it.”

Jon felt sparks ignite within him again. So there it was, what the Master of Whispers was really considering. He reckoned the truth about his parentage was common knowledge by now, and he sincerely grieved Sansa had betrayed his trust like this. Dany had been right all along and he strongly regretted not having listened to her. “What do you want?” He asked, exasperated.  

“All I’ve ever wanted,” the eunuch relented. There he went again with his speech about _the people_. “The right ruler on the Iron Throne. I still don’t know how her coin has landed, but I'm quite certain about yours.”

Was he, though? Because Jon truly wasn’t if he were to be honest. Years of fighting, of weariness, of concern, of not knowing if he’d live to see another day and then actually dying and coming back to life… It had all taken a toll on him. Controlling his impulses was becoming harder by the day. “I don't want it, I never have.” Of that he was certain.  

The eunuch sighed frustrated, further bothering Jon. “I have known more kings and queens than any man living, I’ve heard what they say to crowds and seen what they do in the shadows, I have furthered their designs however horrible, but what I tell you now is true; you will rule wisely and well while she--”

“She is my queen,” he interfered, not wanting to hear more about it. What kings and queens did the eunuch refer to? Robert? The fat drunkard had not cared one bit about the realm so Varys and the small council had ruled in his place. Aerys? His grandfather had lost his mind, that much was true but, again, the people Varys claimed to be so worried about had been better off under his rule than in the last twenty years.

Varys forgot that the kings and queens he’d served were simply unfit for the task at hand. Comparing three or four monarchs against three hundred years of Targaryen rule was absurd. Dany would be a good queen. She may have a temper as did all Targaryens, but she had a good heart, she was kind and caring. She had not been gifted with the title of ‘Breaker of Chains’ without reason.

Having heard enough, Jon gave his back to the man and started making his way to the castle, deeply annoyed.  

“It doesn’t matter,” the eunuch spoke, halting Jon who grudgingly turned back. “You are the better choice. Can’t you see? She’s lost sanity, she doesn’t listen to reason anymore.”

She doesn’t listen to _you_ anymore, Jon mulled. Varys had sworn to Daenerys he wouldn’t compare her to her late father, yet here he was, doing as much. He was supposed to be one of her trusted advisors yet he stood conspiring against her. “You know this is treason,” Jon stated the obvious.

“My only loyalty lies with--”

“The people,” Jon finished for him. “Aye, you’ve said as much.”

“Then you are aware I care not about treason.”

Those were some bold words to say... and false. Every man cared about treason.

“And how do you know I’m not worse than her?” Jon demanded, poking at Varys’ resolve. It didn’t feel off to appeal to his Targaryen heritage anymore, not since he’d realised how much he loved Dany and how much she meant to him. How much she had given up for him without asking anything in return except for his silence which he had not given her. She was selfless, unlike him. Gods, he wanted to tell her how much he missed her, how sorry he was. “You claim to know where my coin has landed but in all honesty, my lord, you don’t know me or what I’ve done.”

“I know enough.”

“You know nothing,” Jon found him himself replying. It was odd to pronounce those words, reminiscent of a time that felt so far away it could have been another life altogether for all he cared. “You’re playing with fire, Lord Varys,” he warned. _In the most literal sense of it_.

Jon would not allow for treason to be committed against their queen, his Dany, after everything she’d been through for their cause. If he had the power to prevent harm from coming to her, he’d prevent it, taking _every_ precaution available.

This was war, there was no time to ponder on whether or not someone could be trusted. If complete trust did not exist then there was no room for leniency. There was no in between. Eddard Stark had tried to change people, believed everyone could find redemption and that had got him killed. Robb had let his enemies live, had trusted he could offer them something other than what they’ve asked for and that had got him killed. Jon would not make the same mistakes.

His blood boiled as rage once more kindled within him, extending from the pit of his stomach throughout his body to the tips of his toes. It had been a long time since he’d felt such a passion; since he’d felt so _alive_.  

He was convinced Dany wasn’t mad for is she was, he was, too. Perhaps she was mad with grief but he was acquainted with the feeling and didn’t blame her for it. Now that he reflected on the matter, he was taken aback by just how much she had endured without setting her fury free. He would have never been able to withstand as much.

He saw the eunuch blink, trying to assess if his words were a threat or merely an opinion. Varys was simply desperate, seeing as to how Dany didn’t take his word as the ultimate truth anymore, as to how she didn’t follow his counsel, so he’d thought he’d tried with someone else, with him. For being considered one of the smartest people alive, Varys was quite simple-minded.

A flicker in the eunuch’s gaze was everything Jon needed to see to be satisfied. He had planted a seed of doubt in his mind and it had taken root. Varys knew no longer if Jon was trustworthy; if he was the man he could manipulate.

“You are the true heir,” the Master of Whispers insisted, “Rhaegar’s son, the crown is legitimately yours.”

“It matters not,” Jon responded firmly, irritated to great extent with the bald man and the conversation. He ignored the intentions Sansa had held when she’d decided to reveal who he was, but he resented it. She had sworn a vow before the most sacred weirwood tree and broken it, an act far-flung from any Stark code of conduct. 

“Oh, but it does. As I’ve stated, men decide where power resides. Knowing who you truly are will make their minds. They won’t want Cersei or Daenerys, they’ll want you.”

“ _She is my queen_ ,” he reiterated. “I’ve made myself clear already.”

The eunuch was about to speak up when he cut in, “Do not wake the dragon, Lord Varys,” he advised, yet he feared it was too late for that.

“But she--”

Jon interrupted, once more; “I'm not talking about her.”

Turning, he resumed his walk up the castle, wanting nothing more than to see Dany.

 

* * *

 

He found her in the Chamber of the Painted Table, destroyed. It was as if life itself had been sucked from her comely form, leaving nothing but a case of flesh. Her moonlit hair had lost its shine, falling recklessly over the length of her back in tangled coils. Gone were her signature braids and Jon’s stomach churned at the realisation that she had no one to braid it for her now that Missandei had passed away. She leaned against the stone wall, looking into the horizon, however, her eyes revealed nothing but the pinching of sorrow like a few, sad scattered stars upon a darkened night.

The sun shone golden and bright against the pale-blue sky, reflecting radiantly across the span of sea-green. The clouds were a smearless white, seemingly soft to the touch as the sea roared gloriously, yet she noticed none of it.  

The picture destroyed _him_ as he felt the most unworthy piece of scum to have ever lived for not having listened to her. She had forewarned what Sansa would do if he confessed to her who he was and he had decided not to believe her. _Honour_ , he thought bothered, honour had made him do it.

His resolve regarding honour as a virtue by which one should live was smaller with each passing day, Eddard’s and Robb’s faces coming to mind constantly.

He’d help her stand back on her feet, he concluded, nothing could be strong enough to defeat the Mother of Dragons. Not Euron, not Cersei, not _Varys._

“Dany,” he called, his legs moving on their own accord, pulled by the magnetic connection between them. He wondered if it had anything to do with their shared blood.

He thought of Ygritte then. He had loved her, but the feeling held no comparison to what he felt for Dany. Ygritte had died and he'd recovered --sometimes even forgot that he’d known her--.

He didn’t think himself capable of recovering would any harm come to Dany. She was a part of him, she completed him. So long he’d been lost, and meeting her, he’d found himself.

Dany didn’t respond, not even spared him a glance.

He deserved that, he inferred. Within her eyes, he was the most despicable man breathing after doing exactly the opposite of what she had pleaded from him. However, that one disruptive side of his he wished not to bring light upon, had convinced him there was no other way than to reveal who he was... honour had not been the sole cause of it all.

After a life existing in the shadows, ashamed of his station, why couldn’t he flaunt --especially to the sister who’d hated him for something he had no control of-- that he was no bastard, that he was, as a matter of fact, a _prince_ , even higher in the social pyramid than Robb had been or Eddard himself, even her? It was wrong to think in such a way, he was aware, but the feeling remained all the same.

Fighting the urge to pull her in his embrace, he remained standing by her side.

“You betrayed me,” she uttered lowly yet resolutely.

“I did not,” he was fast to answer. The Jon who beamed about not being a bastard had managed to detain the honourable one, the right one.

Head snapping at him, she gave him a defiant look. However, despite the fire in her eyes, she looked so terribly tired Jon thought she could collapse with the blows of the wind.

Regretfully, he tried to mend his mistake. “I did.” But the thought did not reach his heart and he felt torn for letting his pride push down his guilt.  

Her eyes did not move away, though the defiance faded, giving way to incredulity. She could read him. How she had acquired that ability was unbeknownst to him but he found it endearing, an added confirmation of the connection they shared.

“You don’t think you did,” she understood.

“I did say I’d tell my sisters.”

“Your cousins, you mean.” There was something hidden in her voice, too. She wasn’t cross, precisely, despite having accused him of betrayal. He was glad to see the deep sorrow withering as her temper came back to life.

“You don’t feel guilty,” she insisted.

“I do,” he relented, sighing. “And I don't.”

Her eyebrows raised, sceptical, and Jon thought he'd caught a glimpse of amusement pass her eyes, a faint smirk adorn her face.

Perhaps Sansa had done them a favour. Dany had mentioned once how terribly alone she felt living with the consciousness she was the last breathing Targaryen in the world. Well, he tried to reassure himself, she wasn’t alone anymore.

The moment was gone as fast as it had arrived as Dany returned to her foul mood, light leaving her gaze. She sat on a nearby chair, sighing as if moving itself required a great expense of energy. 

“I don’t want it,” he started, guessing that’s what she was contemplating. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued; “That’s what I told Sansa and Arya, and what I told Varys.”

“And I told you it doesn’t matter.” Her voice started to falter, breaking with the tears that welled in her eyes. “Far more people in Westeros love you than love me.”

He wouldn't concede for sorrow to come back. This wasn't the Dany he’d met, the one he’d fallen for. She couldn’t look back.

“That's not true,” he contradicted. He may be known in the North but below the Neck, lords and ladies cared not for him.

“I’m tired. All my life, my only goal has been to claim back what Robert took from us, what we lost; to take back the Iron Throne, but I’m tired.”

Her response made him bristle, and he fought to contain the anger it provoked. She couldn’t abandon her quest, not when she was about to get it all. When she was _so close_.

“I don't have love here,” she proceeded with her soliloquy, “I only have fear.”

“I love you,” he declared, needing to reaffirm her where he stood. It was the first time he had dared voice it out loud and, despite feeling somewhat apprehensive about it, it felt appropriate to let her know. “You will always be my queen.”

The tears halted in their track by smear of her fingers across her coloured cheeks as she faced him. Boring her eyes in his, she stood from her chair and walked to him.

She was dangerously close now, hands falling upon his stubble, bringing his lips to hers. Her breath tickled like feathers as her sugary scent consumed him. “Is that all I am to you, _your Queen_?”

Unable to fight the urge of her, he ventured forward, trapping her lips in a smouldering, greedy kiss. He had denied himself of her for far too long, thinking it wrong for a nephew to desire his aunt, however, it mattered not to him anymore. He wanted her, her only. His teeth tugged at her lower lip and his hands roamed over her body, pulling it to his. Her lips upon his felt right, _meant to be._  

Had Robert failed to kill his father, his mind wandered away, perhaps he’d ordered for him to marry Dany, the two being close in age. Targaryens cared not for what other Houses thought or deemed right, and even other families had similar arranges. His distance from her had been supported by meer excuses, Jon was convinced, born out of the shock it had caused him to discover who his parents had been, but not anymore.

He loved her and she loved him, the rest was unimportant. Making an effort to part from her sweet taste, he ended the kiss to answer her inquiry. “No.”

She dragged her gaze from his lips to his eyes, looking at him with expectation --and uncertainty-- as if she didn't believe her ears, his words. Her hands clutched at his jerkin, not wanting to let go of him.

He placed his hands over hers, rubbing soft circles against her smooth skin with the light pressure of his thumbs. “You're the woman I love, _my family_.”

She strengthened her grip as she pulled him in for another kiss, messily parting his lips with her tongue, desperate for his touch. His hands wandered to her arse, squeezing the firm flesh while pulling her hips forward, closing the small gap between their bodies, feeling his groin grow hard with hunger. He needed her, he’d needed her for weeks and he wasn’t going to pass the opportunity of making her his once again, here, at their ancestral home; here, were only dragons were meant to exist.

Messily, he divested her of what he could, having not the resolve to wait longer. With haste, he lifted her off her feet and placed her upon the table, pulling her skirts as he kissed the length of her neck, leaving angry crimson marks in his wake. She desperately untied his trousers and pulled down his small clothes, grabbing hold of his cock, guiding it to her folds, she, too, needy of him.

With one move of his hips, he sheathed himself within her, feeling fire spread through his body, making his blood boil. Her moans incensed him further, spurred him to thrust in her more rapidly, more strongly. The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room loudly, mixing with the crash of the waves and chirp of the seagulls. Gods, how he had missed her, how he had missed the feeling of her walls clenching around him, imprisoning him in the sweetest of punishments.

Her nails digging grooves, they got dampened within crimson flows across his back as she made him hers, her teeth nipped at his lips, drawing the taste of iron into her mouth, a smear of blood filling the fitted closeness of her sweet teeth, and his name spat into the air, bouncing from wall to wall within the Chamber of the Painted Table.

Feeling close to his peak, he fastened his thrusts yet again, charging at her like only he could, like only a wolf with dragon blood did. The affair was raw and untidy, primal, but it mattered not. The heat of their coupling consumed him, driving him to the verge of tears as a smouldering fire took over him and he let his seed spill within her as she cried his name and hid her head in the crook of his neck, holding onto him as if holding onto life.

“Dany,” he whispered into her ear, embracing her needily as he made an effort to even his breath.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she replied meekly, trying as well to come down from the waves of pleasure they had wrought upon each other moments ago.

He kissed her temple, caressing her tangled hair. “Never.” Grabbing her face between his hands, he forced her to look at him and repeated; “Never.”

They were still joined and he made no effort to pull away, needing her close more than she thought he did. His seed dripped from her core, staining her thighs and the sight shamelessly made him proud. She was life for him, she’d been since the first moment he’d realised he loved her.

They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity, embracing, taking in each other after weeks of absence and the thought they’d lost one another. He later helped her put back what little clothing he’d managed to strip her from, as he redid his trousers and pulled his hair back in the bun she had messed with her eager hands.

 

* * *

 

Back in her chambers, she finally accepted to eat and relief washed over Jon as he saw how her spirits lifted up albeit only a minimum, but there was no time to wait. Plans required to be drawn, matters demanded to be discussed, the war was not nearly finished.

“There are people around you whom you shouldn’t trust,” he began. He felt out of place scheming, machinating, something he thought he’d never do. Then again, he thought of the Starks and resolved he’d not meet the same fate they had, trying to stay away from the game.

Dany placed the spoon she’d been using over the wooden table and looked at him, stern.

“Someone plans on betraying you, or has already,” he continued. “Varys,” he simply stated.

Sipping from her cup of wine, Daenerys narrowed her eyes, not happy with the information she was a recipient of. “It’s your fault.”

He sighed, looking down. “It is.”

“You told Sansa, she told the world.”

Stating the obvious didn’t change anything, he thought, it was time to move past it. “I did what I did and can’t take it back. I wish I hadn’t done it.”

Her eyebrows raised. “I thought we had established already that you don’t, _Aegon_.”

His eyes snapped at her, perplexed. It was the first time she --anyone-- referred to him by his given name. It felt as if she was appealing to another person who wasn’t him, at the same time, it felt oddly familiar. He wanted to correct her, tell her not to call him that, but the words somehow managed to escape him.

“Varys needs to be dealt with,” he retreated to what he wanted to say in the first place. “He wants to put me in your stead and I’m afraid he has already put some plan in motion.”

Dany downed more wine, her eyes never leaving his. “Now you know what happens when people know the truth about you.”

“Dany…” He grunted. There was no use to keep reiterating it. “He needs to die. He needs to become an example of what happens when people betray your trust.”

“I thought you didn’t approve when I killed people.”

“This is different.” At least he believed it was. He had been forced to do the same during his time as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and it wasn’t easy or desirable, but treason had to be punished.

“I can’t kill him, I’m in need of his net of little birds, I need my Master of Whispers.”

Jon stood from his place before her, frustrated. “It’s not worth it if he is capable of betraying you. You warned him not to go behind your back but that’s exactly what he’s doing. He has concluded you’re not fit to rule. He urges me to take your place, but it could be anyone by day’s end. You _must_ kill him. And Tyrion--”

“I’m not murdering my Hand,” she interrupted.

“I wasn’t going to suggest it. Only that you need to be careful around him. I don’t think he will betray you, he loves you, but he, too, thinks you’re going mad.” He had encountered the dwarf of Casterly Rock before he could reach the castle doors, telling him about his fears and suspicions.

“Am I?” Dany questioned, looking at him like she’d done at the room with the painted table, not entirely bitter and slightly amused but concerned all the same.

Jon thought of everything she had gone through; growing up an orphan with only a brother who despised her and brutalised her, marrying a Dothraki leader who’d raped her only for her to eventually come to love him and lose him along with their child, wandering with nothing to eat or drink, locking Viserion and Rhaegal away and losing track of Drogon, then taken back to the Dothraki and sentenced to live imprisoned, finally regaining everything and sailing to Westeros only to lose it all for a war that wasn’t hers and having to face a Lannister usurper who could ruin all of her efforts. “How could you not?” He replied.

“Does that bother you?”

Jon mulled over it. His honour dictated that it did, yet the other side of him did not particularly worry about it. “Aye, it does. And it doesn’t,” he finally spoke, shrugging. His conflicted feelings started to be less conflicted, especially since he now had her between his arms again; since he’d realised there was no way but for him to follow her wherever she went.

“You’re one for contradictions today,” she said almost entertained. Perhaps in another situation amusement and a tinge of mockery had reached her voice. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment, “I tried to stop it but I’m tired. I can’t stop it anymore. I guess it was inevitable. I _am_ a Targaryen.”

Jon still wasn't convinced of a supposed Targaryen intrinsic madness but he supposed if it did exist, then he was bound to be mad, as well, along with her. He _was_ the Mad King’s grandson, after all.  “I am one as well.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, weary. She stood up and joined him by the bed, trying to asses his words.

“I am,” he said again, not sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

“You are,” she muttered after a while, still looking at him as if trying to discern if he was real or not. “Does that bother you?” She asked as she had before.

“Not anymore. Not as I thought it would.” His inner boy found a sense of relief in the fact that he wasn’t a bastard, he felt content to know he had been wanted, and he felt satisfied he could carry a name. A wild thought crossed his mind then. If Daenerys was to marry him, she wouldn’t wed a _bastard._  She’d wed an heir, a _prince_.

Long gone was the shy, reserved little boy. He was Aegon of the House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and a son of the North, of the House Stark, of the she-wolf Lyanna. Nothing but royalty ran through his veins. He was a Valyrian heir and a descendant of the First Men. The realms where Dany’s to take, but his as well.

He cared not for the Iron Throne, but if standing by her side meant she could more easily attain it, then he’d ruled. He’d rule next to her --if she so wanted, and he didn’t know if she did.

Pulling him out of his own mind, she grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her, cupping her cheek with it. The warmth she irradiated filled him, made him feel he lived again. A part of him had been lost when his brothers had murdered him but she had given it back to him with that fire that burned inside her.

“You must kill him,” he repeated, going back to the treason Varys had committed. “Kill him and you’ll have one less enemy today than you did yesterday.” She faintly smiled, aware she had pronounced those words herself, not very long ago. Those were words that had once bothered him, however, they did nought but scream reason to him presently.

She nodded, resting her head on his chest, playing with the strings of his doublet.

“You’ll get the Iron Throne,” he finalised, letting her know that his suggestion had no other purpose than that.

“ _We_ will _, my King,”_ she replied, emphasising her words.

Bewildered, he grabbed her by the arms, obliging her to look at him. He bore his eyes into hers, demanding an explanation.  

“If I am your Queen, you are my King,” she declared. “ _We_ are the last Targaryens, Jon Snow.”

 

* * *

 

“ _You’re both mad_ ,” the eunuch muttered, realisation striking him like thunder. His words had been but a whisper, too troubled to raise their volume.

The night was at its peak, the moon hovering over their heads, glowing a silver colour like that of the strands of most Targaryens. Drogon stood behind Daenerys and Jon, circling them with his massive body, awaiting his mother’s command.

The pair of them made a sight, standing next to each other. How long had it been since the world had seen a couple of Targaryens side by side, above all men in this world?

“You woke the dragons, Lord Varys,” Daenerys told him, face grim. It was unnerving to listen to the chill in her voice.

The eunuch swallowed, words gone from him.

It had been deeply hurtful to bid farewell to an old friend, Tyrion thought. The Hand of the Queen regarded the scene a bit perplexed, a bit fretful. Was it awe or sheer terror what he felt, he didn’t know. Dragons fascinated him, they invariably had. He had read so many stories about the bestial creatures along with the lords who rode them, yet contemplating those myths face to face was altogether a different thing.

The dwarf knew stories would be written about the times he was living, but now he was utterly certain the world would never forget the Targaryens who took back what was theirs, crushing mercilessly the barely two decades of usurpation produced by those that had dared question their rule.

The dragons were truly back.

“Lord Varys, I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of my name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die.”

Drogon’s head came into view, approaching the man that had served so many kings, slowly and menacingly. Both Jon and Daenerys stood firmly, unaffected by the massiveness of the beast or the destruction it could leave in its wake. No one stood next to a dragon without worrying or feeling frightened, cowed. Dragons were truly unafraid of dragons, he reasoned.

“Dracarys.”

The fire consumed the former Master of Whispers in less than the blink of an eye. Its heat reached beyond, making Tyrion sweat and be thankful it hadn’t been him in the middle of the circle. Its glow blinded him for a moment. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing to behold.

Daenerys turned to look at Jon, and Tyrion detected a question in her eyes.

Her nephew nodded, in approval of something only they were aware of, and it dawned on the Hand of the Queen that Varys’ lasts words may have held truth to them. Daenerys had not ordered the execution of the eunuch, it’d been Jon.

 

* * *

 

When the bells rang he felt relief. _It’s over,_  he thought triumphantly. _It’s over_. Dany had won, Cersei had lost and the capital remained almost unaffected. The Iron Throne was hers to take. _Theirs_ , he corrected.

Drogon’s shadow darkened his view as he flew over him, screeching. Jon saw Dany halting her child over a tall construction where she could look at the city before her; the city their ancestors had founded, where everything had begun.

It was the second time Jon stepped foot on King’s Landing, and this time, like when he’d reached Dragonstone, he felt a familiar air emanating from it as if the city itself knew him and wanted him there. Jon had never much cared for the South, but that felt so distant at the moment, looking at it, taking it in.  

The bells kept ringing, large bells and much smaller ones. The Lannister soldiers before him stood unnerved, weary, not knowing what to do. Despite surrendering, Jon didn’t want to let them go, distrustful of their next steps. They were Lannister men, after all. They looked him trying to fathom who he was, some merely curious, some visibly incredulous, and Jon pondered if it could be that the truth of his parentage had reached many more ears than those he was aware of.

Suddenly, Drogon lifted flight again, this time with more speed and something told Jon, Dany had made a decision they hadn’t discussed before. He could imagine what it was, but he refused to believe it. _No. She won’t do it._

Screams and cries deafened him as Drogon’s fire hit everything in its wake. He could feel the increasing heat his spits of fire emanated as he saw the city burn before his eyes. His breathing grew ragged and a hole formed in the pit of his stomach as he tried to comprehend what transpired around him. Everything had finished and all of a sudden everything had begun again, this time a thousand times worse.

_Fire and blood._

_Fire and blood._

Those were the only words his mind could come up with, time and time again.

_Fire and blood._

She had promised that and she was keeping her oath.

Missandei had died pronouncing one last command and Dany had obliged to it, forever loyal to the love she held for her.

Had she really gone mad?

Observing the waves of fire consume the city and the people in it told him she had. Varys had been right. Tyrion, as well, but he couldn't find it in him to blame her or feel angry at her, not even disappointed.

_Fire and blood._

_Fire and blood._

People ran in every direction, begging for mercy, for their lives. Soldiers, women and children died at his feet, some crushed by falling buildings, some in combat, some reduced to ashes. Yet, he remained standing, rooted in his spot, examining his surrounding as everything crumbled.

_Fire and blood._

He supposed he had, too --gone mad-- for even contemplating what she was doing, the dark instinct within his gut told him it _wasn’t_ _wrong_.

The world had taken so much from her and nothing guaranteed the people would believe it. She had given up two dragons, dear friends, vast numbers of soldiers to save _them_ , yet would they appreciate it?

_Fire and blood._

Aegon had not taken the Seven Kingdoms sieging, waiting, trusting. He’d brought  _fire and blood_ In his wake and ended millenary petty quarrels between kingdoms, setting the foundation for centuries of prosperity.

In the distance, Jon saw Drogon direct his fire to the great Red Keep, making it yield to her command, and he saw it fall into pieces, a piece of history destroyed with each stone fallen. It was somewhat disheartening to behold the capital of what the Conqueror had built shatter and crumble, however, it sparked hope in him too, and joy.

One fallen city seemed a little price to pay for a whole new era. Her reign. His reign.

And this was the start of it. _Their_ era. They descended from Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys, but their time had ended and a different one began. Targaryens would rule for years to come.

Drogon soared north and south, west and east, blazing, destroying. Listening to his thunderous screech, Jon felt his heart break like the buildings around him as he remembered that Rhaegal and Viserion should have been present as well, flying and spitting fire.

Standing on the ground next to the Unsullied and Dothraki like he used to before meeting Dany, he now felt inadequate. Was it not for Cersei, he’d be up in the sky, commanding Rhaegal next to Dany, ending the hideous Lannister rule from above. _Lannisters_ , he thought in contempt. Nothing but traitorous snakes.

 _We weren’t extraordinary without them_ , Dany had told him once about dragons.

Indeed.

There must be a reason their ancestors kept their blood pure, there must be a reason as to why they were the only ones capable of mounting such creatures.

 _Fire and blood_.

They were Targaryens, the last trace of the Valyrian civilisation. _This_ was _their_ way.

Honour? There was more honour in Dany’s actions than there had ever been in Cersei’s.

An unsullied approached him, his face revealing nothing like those of his kind never did. “The prisoner. Gone,” he informed Jon in the basic common tongue he knew.

 _Tyrion_  was the first thought that crossed Jon’s mind at the knowledge, his jaw clenching. Tyrion had let his brother out. He’d set him free and betrayed them. He took a deep breath, soothing his rage, trying hard not to send for him in the middle of the blazing fire that poured like rain from Drogon’s throat, to kill the dwarf himself. He’d lost him almost as soon as the battle had begun, but he’d come. He’d come to him and face the Queen.

In the end, it had been proven correct one should never trust Lannisters, no matter how friendly they appeared.

 

* * *

 

Jon had received Dany in his arms after she’d dismounted Drogon, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She had run to him hastily, embracing him with all the strength she could muster, allowing the fall of heavy wails brought from pain to escape between chapped lips. “I didn’t want to. I swear, I didn’t want to,” she kept saying as Jon caressed her silver strands, placing his chin atop her head. He loathed to see her like this, broken and pleading.

“Shhhh,” he tried to soothe her. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t but I couldn’t help it. I swear I didn’t.” Her tears soaking his jerking, her trembling form was barely controlled by his firm hold. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried.

He had led her away from prying eyes, lest the remaining soldiers and people thought the Queen weak. He held her securely, kissed her to reassure her, convinced her what was done was done and that she needed to look ahead, not back. The city would rise again, it would flourish under their rule and this would just be remembered as the day Targaryens had taken back what was theirs, nothing more.

It was somewhat daunting to feel little to no guilt nor regret over the events of the day, however, seeing Dany let out the fury and resentment she’d harboured for so long, the hideous feelings finally abandoning her body and soul, was of much importance to him. She was free, and so was he.

When she had regained her confidence, he revealed to her Tyrion’s betrayal and she’d seethed. Her most trusted advisor, a close friend, the man who’d helped her reach to where she stood, had broken his promises, had stepped over her. Fire sparked once more, reflected on her eyes as they shone brightly.

With one last kiss shared, equally desperate and relieving, they made their way up the ruins of the Red Keep, seeking what they had come to claim, what was theirs by right.

There it was, at the end of a large room, surrounded by gusts of ash and smoke, debris at its base. Oddly, It remained untouched. The castle had almost fallen, yet it stood unharmed, gloriously monstrous, and it beckoned them.

Hand in hand, they hesitantly wandered towards it, not believing their eyes entirely. It was the first time they came to its presence, only hearing from it throughout their lives as a bastard and an exile. To think the Conqueror had built it all those years ago from the swords of his enemies and now it was theirs to take. Jon almost felt he was watching, looming, pushing them towards it.

It amazed Jon how an ornate chair could mean so much, affect the lives of so many. How it made people fight and die for it, and yet, now, standing in front of it, he wanted it. He felt drawn to it. He’d spent his life running away from power yet being granted with it regardless. Perhaps it had always been his fate as much as Dany’s. _We are the last Targaryens_ , her voice resonated within his mind.

Halting before it, neither of them dared touch it, in wonder still at the realness of the moment as of the throne before their eyes. Dany lifted her arm first, her fingers slowly brushing its edge, her other hand holding onto his firmly. Jon followed, imitating her movements, tracing the path her fingers had.  

Their eyes sought each others’ in accordance, searching for their beloved’s approval as they always did. Jon believed he had nothing to agree to for this was her throne. It was he who needed permission to rule next to her. Pulling her closer to the throne, he encouraged her to sit, gifting her a light smile. He was so proud of her and what she’d accomplished. Her reward stood right there, waiting for her.

Nervously, Dany let go of his hand and proceeded to sit, letting her weight fall upon the metal structure. Once seated, she straightened her back and placed her arms over her thighs, regally. It was the Queen, not Dany, who sat before him.

Tugging at his doublet, she motioned for him to come closer. She kissed his hand and, for the first time in weeks, she smiled. The ends of her lips lifted, allowing her pearl-white teeth to show.

Outside, Drogon had found a spot to rest over a pile of rubble. Jon swore even he looked pleased as his nostrils expelled light smoke.

Bending, Jon was about to kiss her cheek when a voice interrupted the moment. “You look good on it.”

They didn’t need to lift their eyes to know to whom the voice belonged. “Lord Tyrion,” Dany addressed him as Jon took a stand to her right, his hand resting over Longclaw.  

“I am happy to see you there, I truly am. But may I ask, what spurred you to burn the city and kill thousands of innocents?” The dwarf walked towards them as he said this, followed by Grey Worm and some Dothraki. “We had agreed to cease the attack if the bells rang. And they did.”

Dany lifted her chin defiantly as Jon narrowed his eyes at the last man who had betrayed his Queen.

“You said once you had not come to Westeros to be Queen of the Ashes,” he pressed further. “That you were not your father.”

“I am neither,” Dany replied.

Tyrion opened his eyes widely, quite shocked. “It appears to me otherwise.” Seeing as to how Daenerys wouldn’t try to further explain her actions, he focused his attention on Jon. “I thought you didn’t agree with this course of action. Nothing justifies the killing of innocents.”

“Our Queen did what she deemed necessary. It was her choice to make,” he replied resolutely, leaving no space for Tyrion to question his opinion.

“You became what you tried so hard not to,” he insisted, looking back at Daenerys.

“She is not her father,” Jon intervened as Tyrion regarded them distrustfully. “This is it. The city has fallen and now the realm can grow again, it has been ridden of Lannisters and other threats like Euron Greyjoy. _We have won the last war_ and, from now on, in all seven kingdoms, men will live without fear and cruelty under their rightful Queen.”

“And King,” Dany added, grabbing Jon’s hand once again. She directed her gaze towards the Imp as if daring him to contradict them, however, when he was about to, she raised her hand, halting him. “You have no longer the right to speak if I do not command so.”

Tyrion’s face soured in a scowl. He was appalled, but Jon could also discern fear in his shaking hands and sweat-covered skin, creeping into his gaze. He knew what was coming.  

“I told you the next time you failed me, it would be the last.”

“Your Grace, I have not--”

“You set your brother free, helped him escape,” she hissed. “How would you refer to that? A betrayal? Treason? Call it whatever you want, _my Lord._  You _failed me_.

Drogon came closer, his head traversing the broken window, looking to where the Lannister stood.

The Hand of the Queen knew he had betrayed her trust, however, he couldn’t come to accept that he had been in the wrong. Jamie could have convinced Cersei to stop it all, his brother was the only person who had truly loved him and as such he couldn't let him rot in the cells where Daenerys would have most likely kept him. It was all for nothing, he deduced, defeated. His time had come to an end.

Looking back at the couple before him, he could see their resolve and the love they professed one another. If that would become their greatness or their doom, he didn’t know, but he was certain theirs would be a time never forgotten. He had seen it first, hiding behind contained stares, back at Varys’ execution, now they explicitly let it show, _proudly_

 _The dragons truly woke_ , the idea crossed Tyrion’s mind as he tried to take in as best he could that it was one of the last ones he’d ever have. Once again, it was unclear to him whether it sparked awe or simple fear within him. _They’re back,_ he reminded himself.

“It appears I cannot trust you, therefore, I have no use for your counsel anymore.”

“Your Grace--” Tyrion tried begging one last time to no avail.

The Queen gave the command. “Dracarys.”

Drogon’s fire consumed the little form at the bottom of the stairs, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ash, putting an end to the long lasting line of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock.

Aegon turned to his Queen, commitment and resolve in his eyes, mirrored by hers.

Now their reign began. Now the world would bow to dragons once more. Now power was theirs as it had always been meant to. Now, once again, Targaryens sat over the Iron Throne.

It was known; like their dragons, the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you likeeeyyyyy? *bats eyelashes* 
> 
> Lemme know!!!! Thanks for stopping by! 
> 
> Annddd it doesn't matter what happens after tonight's episode, Dany and Jon and all the other amazing characters do not finish for us! Like I said at the beginning, let's keep writing! (and waiting for George's books lol)
> 
> Much love to everyone! *lifts glass of wine*


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